


Falling Asleep in Your Arms

by SmoakScreen (midwestwind)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Five Time Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 05:09:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midwestwind/pseuds/SmoakScreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Felicity and Oliver shared a bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> This is largely dedicated to Hannah who tolerated my indecision and self doubt in order to proofread it. The timeline is within the first few months immediately following the Undertaking.

The first time is immediately after the destruction of the Glades.. or most of them, anyway. Felicity had somehow managed to make it out of Verdant without it collapsing in on her. In her scope of the damage surrounding her, she'd found that, while large portions of the ceiling had now become nice decorations on the floor, the building was at least standing. A fine film of dust covered nearly every surface around her and brief glance at her lap had confirmed that she herself was included. For the first time since she joined the team, she didn't even hesitate when John's voice came crackling through the comms telling her to go home and sleep.

 

Home she could do, sleep would at least be a consideration.

 

She'd gone home and immediately moved for the shower, scrubbing every bit of rubble from her skin and hair, leaving her clothes to be dealt with and decided on in the morning – or whenever she woke the next day. Felicity hadn't planned to delay sleep, she couldn't deny the exhaustion pulling at her, the emptiness of her stomach simply pulled harder. She had tried to remember the last time she'd eaten as she went for the cereal stacked on top of her fridge.

 

Cleaned and fed, there was nothing else standing between her and her bed. But an hour after collapsing into the pillows, her eyes were closed but her brain was wide awake. The sound of her bedroom window, connected to the fire escape, caused her eyes to fly open as she felt around the nightstand for anything that could be used as a weapon. The best she found was the cordless land line which, she figured, she could at least throw at the intruder. Her hand released as she recognized the silhouette of the person climbing deftly through her window, the pointed hood was a hard image to mistake. The phone clattered against her nightstand and she rushed to meet him at the end of the bed.

 

“Oliver?” She whispered as she straightened up on the bed, her knees pressed into the fabric of her comforter. He turned to her and, even in the low light from the street lamps, she could make out the desperation and pain in his eyes. Felicity's mind immediately turned to Laurel, Detective Lance's phone call with his daughter still fresh in her mind, and then to Thea, her boyfriend was from the Glades right? She awkwardly stumbled off the bed and stood in front of Oliver, pushing him down gently by his shoulders to sit at the foot of her bed.

 

“What happened?” She regretted the question the instant it left her mouth. What a stupid question! She knew exactly _what_ had happened. A better question would be _who_. But she wasn't sure she wanted to know. He answered the question she wasn't sure she could ask.

 

“Tommy.” His voice is raspy and quiet and sounds like a pepper grinder. Her heartaches for him and, though she doesn't need him to, he goes on,

 

“He's gone.” She throws herself at him and, though she barely knew the man in question, she's not sure whether she's looking to give or get comfort. He buries his face in her stomach and she wraps her arms around his neck as his hood falls backwards. She doesn't realize he's crying until a sob runs through his shoulders and shakes her ribcage. She doesn't shush him or whisper lies about how everything will be fine but instead runs her fingers through his close cropped hair and lets his sobs shake both their bodies.

 

She doesn't know how long they stay like this, she looks up to find that the clock on her nightstand is flashing 12:00 in big red letters and tries to remember how long it's been that way. But Oliver stops shaking and pulls his head back from her stomach and she has more pressing matters to deal with than resetting her clock. She loosens her grip on his neck as he leans back and looks up at her, tear tracks obvious in the dirt and dust that cover his face.

 

She steps back to take his hands and help him to his feet before leading him to her bathroom. He sits on the toilet lid as she switches on the light and wets a washcloth. Moving in front of him, she begins wiping gently at his face, working meticulously to remove the dirt and, what she can now tell to be, dried blood from his already bruising skin. He rests his hands on her hips, steadying her, but she's not sure which one of them he's actually trying to steady. It isn't until she takes a step back to examine her work that she notices the large bloodied hole in his chest.

 

Her hand flies to her mouth and she bites her cheek to keep from gasping or scolding or whatever she might do under normal circumstances. She's having trouble remembering what “normal” was like tonight. No questions or accusations. No words at all in fact. They work in understanding and he lifts his arms carefully as she finds a way to remove his leather hood without causing more pain, and then repeats the movements with the t-shirt he wears underneath. Felicity bites down hard on her lip at the sight of the wound in all it's glory. She doesn't have to check around back to know it goes all the way through.

 

There is no medical kit in her apartment but she grabs some antiseptic from the cabinet and places it on the sink. She rinses off the washcloth and returns to her spot in front of him, his hands back on her hips, and begins scrubbing away the dried blood, moving from the front of the wound to the back. She retrieves a new washcloth and pours the antiseptic into it, returning to the wound. The sting of the liquid seems to wake him from his trance and the gravely voice she's never heard before tonight is back.

 

“I failed.” She looks up from the wound briefly and thinks he might cry again and that, this time, she might join him.

 

“I failed the city,” he continues. “I deserve an arrow in my chest.” She steps back from him, her eyes turning fierce as she finds her own voice. It comes out strange and she considers his isn't the only voice she doesn't recognize.

 

“Don't say that!” She snaps a bit louder than she means to and he flinches but meets her eyes for the first time that night. She lowers her voice. “You have _not_ failed this city, Oliver.”

 

“If it weren't for me..,” he drifts but she can see where he's going.

 

“If it weren't for you, no one would have known about Merlyn's plan. You gave people a chance,” she reasons. “You saved a lot of lives tonight. That's an important fact you need to remember.” She returns her attention to his wound and she can practically feel the thoughts buzzing in his head but she's almost certain of the most prominent one.

 

He hadn't saved Tommy.

 

She dressed his wound the best she could with what she had and pushed him toward her bed. He stumbled a bit and she could tell he was looking towards the window.

 

“Felicity..,” he begins, ready to argue his way into an escape. She wonders if he's beginning to wake up and figure out why he came to her in the first place. She doesn't give him the chance to try and put two and two together and somehow end up with negative five.

 

“Just sleep, Oliver,” she says gently, “and tomorrow you'll wake up, go home to Thea, and wait for news. You'll visit Laurel and inspect the damage of the club. You'll give Digg time off and find a way to grieve properly, in the loving hands of friends and family. You'll go on living, because he'd want you to.” He turns and stares at her for a moment and she wonders if she's overstepped but holds her ground anyway.

 

“Just sleep,” she repeats. He doesn't respond but climbs into her bed and scoots to the side until there is room for her as well. She considers the movie cliché in which one of them would sleep beneath the comforter and the other above, in a way of keeping it innocent looking, but she considers how much the both need the warmth and comfort of the comforter and doesn't bother with the thought any longer.

 

She finds sleep as her arm finds the warmth of his waist and neither of them shy away from the much needed human contact. There is nothing sexual or romantic about this night, there is only comfort they both need.

 

Felicity wakes up well into the afternoon the next morning to a note on her beside table, held down by the weight of her clock that now lights up dully in the daylight signaling the correct time to her. The note is simple and unsigned but she doesn't need the signature.

 

_Thank you._


	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how well I have these characters down, so I apologize for anything that comes off as out of character. I'm new to these two and still just trying to find my way around.

The second time, he comes through the front door. His knock leaves Felicity scrambling because her hair is still damp and her shorts are more in the underwear range and not made for entertaining. Not to mention, it's eleven at night and _who the hell could that even be?!_ He comes in without being invited, wreaking of scotch and bad decisions. He gives her a transparent smile and she doesn't bother to return it.

 

“Oliver, what's going on?” She asks as he plops down on her couch. He drops the pretense and turns his gaze to her glass coffee table. Felicity decides he may not be in the best frame of mind and leaves him alone while she gets him a glass of water. When she returns, his head is in his hands and she thinks he might be crying. Setting the glass down on the table in front of him, she wracks her brain trying to come up with the reason behind his state of distress.

 

When it hits her, it feels a bit like dry swallowing a pill. The air catches in her throat for a minute before the words fall from her lips without her brain's consent.

 

“The funeral.” His head shoots up and she catches his eye. He stares at her unwavering and, past the redness from the alcohol, she can see all the pain and loss he's been trying not to feel. In the aftermath of the undertaking, Oliver had forced all of his pain down. Felicity knew he was forcing himself to only feel what was expected of him by his sister, by Laurel, by strangers who only knew of him. Tommy's funeral had been a private event, not wanting to allow press, so Felicity hadn't been on the list. But she shouldn't have forgotten.

 

“Oliver,” she murmurs, dropping down on the opposite side of the couch from him. She tugged at the front of her shirt, trying to pull it down over her shorts, but his eyes never left her face.

 

“Talk to me,” she insisted. “Tell me what happened.” Something flashes in his eyes, something new to her that she can't quite identify, and she wonders if he's regretting having chosen her front door to stumble through.

 

“No,” he counters, his voice stronger than she expected. “No talking.” With no other explanation, he leans forward and, before she can counter the movement, his hands are on either side of her face and his lips are on hers. Felicity doesn't fight him, she wants to believe it's the glass of wine she had with her bath, but knows she doesn't want to fight him. They come up for air but he doesn't pause, his lips traveling down her neck. She lets out a quiet moan when he reaches the dip where her shoulder and her neck meet and feels him chuckle against her skin. He's clearly a sadist.

 

Oliver's lips are back on hers suddenly and he's helping her up off the couch, guiding her toward her bedroom. Her senses are on override as his hands move down her side, locating the hem of her t-shirt, and the stubble on his chin scrapes enjoyably against hers. She feels the back of her knees hit her bed but keeps herself upright. He's quick about pulling her shirt over her head and his lips only leave hers for a moment before finding the skin of her neck again. She struggles to make her brain work, tries to remember what bra she put on after her bath and prays to God it's not that ugly brown one she's been meaning to throw away for months.

 

She hates that he has on more clothes than her and quickly goes to work unbuttoning his dress shirt, pushing it back against his arms before he leans back and pulls it the rest of the way off. This time, she takes advantage of the newly exposed flesh and takes pride when she finds a particular spot with her lips that makes him suck in a breath. Pulling back to smirk up at him, her brain suddenly jumps into action. Alarm bells start going off in all quadrants and she finds herself taking in a whiff of the smell of alcohol still coming off him.

  
“Oliver,” she murmurs.

 

Oliver has returned his attention to the spot that had caused her moan earlier and his hands are fussing with the clasp on her bra. She places her hands on his chest and conjures up the strength to push him backwards. He gets the hint relatively quickly and stumbles back a few steps. Felicity can feel herself flushing and stares at her feet.

 

“We can't,” she mutters, ringing her hands together. “I mean not that I wouldn't want to and I'm sure it'd be fun..” _Wrap it up, Felicity._ “But, you'd regret it in the morning and then I'm sure it'd be awkward so we just.. can't.” She finishes lamely and tries to figure out where he tossed her shirt.

 

“I'm sorry.” His voice is faint and she recognizes the raspy edge from the night the Glades fell.

 

“Don't be,” she says quickly, not wanting him to think he'd upset her. She'd let it go too far and she hoped he wouldn't be angry with her for it tomorrow morning. She locates her shirt and pulls it over her head so quickly it ends up inside out. When she's found it in her to look at him again, he's put his own shirt back on as well. He watches her for a moment before his gaze lands on the floor and he turns to leave.

 

“Where are you going?” She asks and the volume of her voice surprises her in the quiet that's fallen. “You can't drive home like this, it's bad enough you drove here.”

 

“Felicity,” he warns but she shakes her head.

 

“Oliver, you're not going to win this one.” He seems to contemplate debating it more but his shoulders sag and she recognizes him giving in.

 

“I'll stay on the couch, then,” he says, moving back to the living room.

 

“That couch is half your size. It'll kill your back and you can't go around shooting arrows into bad guys with a bad back.” He smirks at her logic and it almost reaches his eyes.

 

“Then what do you propose?”

 

“I'll stay on the couch, you take the bed.”

 

“No.”

 

“Oliver-”

 

“Felicity, this is your home, I couldn't force you out of your bed. It'll hurt your back just as much.” She opens her mouth to debate it. “You're not going to win this one.” She grimaces at the use of her own words against her but figures he's probably right. She decides it's really unfair that even drunk enough to have almost slept with her, he's still lucid enough to successfully debate with her.

 

“Fine, then we'll share the bed,” she suggests and he looks at her uneasily causing her own mind to flash back to only moments before and his lips on her shoulder. “Innocently.” He purses his lips but she holds her ground and she finds them once again sharing her bed, back to back this time, and she wishes she'd put on pants.

 

“Felicity,” he whispers and she decides that tonight is not the time to talk about it.

 

“Just sleep,” she begins and is struck by a bit of deja vu, “we can talk – or not talk – about it tomorrow.” She stays awake for a while, watching the streetlights light up the wall opposite her, before finally hearing his breathing even out. She rolls over and watches his shoulders rise and fall for a bit.

 

She doesn't remember falling asleep but she wakes up to an empty bed and another note on her bedside table.

 

_I could never regret you._


	3. III

One thing Felicity knows about Oliver Queen is that he is the king of the “normalcy front”. She wasn't surprised to have woken up alone the morning after Tommy's funeral, but she was even less surprised when Oliver never mentioned it again. She knew he remembered from his note and, had to admit, she was ecstatic they were forgetting the whole thing. He may have been drunk, but it was hardly her shining hour.

 

They'd moved quickly back into normalcy and Felicity even managed to convince Oliver into having a movie night with her. So, she showed up at the Queen's mansion in yoga pants and a t-shirt and had tried not to look like she was trying hard. Because she definitely hadn't redone her ponytail three times or changed her t-shirt five times. Felicity cradled a paper bag full of take-away Thai food in one arm and dangled a small canvas bag holding the DVDs she'd picked out for the night from the opposite hand as she waited in the foyer for Oliver to come down from.. wherever.

 

She was pretty sure that was the most ridiculous and unnecessary staircase she'd ever seen.

 

After only a few minutes, that for Felicity felt more like a few hours, Oliver did descend one side of the staircase, grinning at her the moment she caught sight of him. Oliver's real smile tended to be infectious and she found herself grinning back.

 

“Felicity,” he greets once he's halfway down the stairs, “I'm glad you found the house okay.”

 

“The house you could find from space, navigating the driveway on the other hand, I almost gave up,” she teases and he shakes his head at her, finally reaching the bottom step and reaching out to take the bag with the food in it from her. She loosens her grip and allows him to remove the steaming bag from the crook of her arm.

 

“Well, I'm glad you didn't.” Oliver unrolls the bag he'd taken with one hand and looks at the food. “Oh, you didn't have to, I would have paid.” She waves her hand dismissively and gets a better grip on the bag with the movies.

 

“So, where are we doing this at?” Felicity asks, swinging the bag for emphasis.

 

“I set up a television in my room, is that okay?” He asks sticking his thumb out in the direction of the staircase behind him and Felicity nods.

 

“Lead the way.”

 

A few hours later, they were halfway through the second Transformers movie and Felicity could feel herself fading into sleep quicker than she expected. The were stretched out on his bed, propped up against the headboard in the direction of the TV across the room. His bed was big enough that there was a good foot of space between them and Felicity yawned and shrunk down a little against the pillows supporting her lower back.

 

“You okay?” Oliver asked, turning his attention on her rather than the movie.

 

“Mhm,” she hummed, crossing her ankles under his comforter.

 

“Going to sleep?” He asks and she can hear the smirk in his voice.

 

“Nope.” The word is a little slurred and she grimaces. “Just resting my eyes.” She glances over at him for a moment before closing her eyes and he's returned his attention to the movie. The last thing she remembers before drifting off is hearing him chuckle at a line from the small robot whose eye Megan Fox burned off and feels the vibration of it through the headboard.

 

Felicity wakes up and has to take a moment to figure out where she is. The room is unfamiliar and the solid thing pressed up against her back is clearly a body and she's extremely concerned for a full three seconds before remembering that she'd fallen asleep at Oliver's.

 

Which means that the body molded quite nicely against hers must be Oliver.

 

She takes a moment to take note of the position they're in, his one arm bent at the elbow and cradling his own head while cushioning hers while the other is placing a decent amount of weight across her waist. After attempting to shift her legs slightly, she realizes that they're tangled up with his and she tries to avoid the thoughts of how nice it feels.

 

His fingers flex against her hip bone and she tries to even her breathing and feign sleep. The pillow shifts slightly as he picks up his head and she can imagine him looking around, probably surprised to be waking up in bed with her in his own bedroom this time. He lays his head back down and she rolls over to face him without thinking and is surprised when his face is only inches from hers.

 

“Morning,” Oliver breathes and she murmurs the greeting back. It's quiet for a moment and it unnerves her but, surprisingly, she isn't the first to speak.

 

“Felicity.” His voice is so quiet and gentle and she can feel his breath. It makes her angry that the universe keeps finding ways to put her in these positions. She waits for him to continue but he doesn't. The events of weeks before and the thought of his lips against her lips, her neck, her shoulders coming crashing back into her mind.

 

And she has to go.

 

She sits up abruptly and he follows, leaning up on his elbows, watching her with concern.

 

“Are you okay?” He asks and the gentleness in his voice is gone, Oliver Queen masked vigilante is back. It gives her a reprieve and she finds the strength she needs to remove herself from a situation which could easily become potentially embarrassing.

 

“Yeah, I just,” she pushes herself out of the bed, busying her hands with redoing her ponytail and avoiding his eyes, “I should probably go.”

 

“Oh.” He sounds a little sad but she doesn't take the time to analyze it. She grabs her phone from where she'd set it down the night before and scoops her shoes under her arm before dashing from the room in the most casual pace she can manage barefoot and embarrassed.

 

Later in the day, she decides to try and diffuse the tension she'd left hanging around while simultaneously forcing them back into normalcy by sending him a text.

 

_We still have another movie to watch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ravenclawwit for letting me know this chapter was doubled. It should be fixed now!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter may require a bit of AU in accordance with the comics because I know nothing about Green Arrow comic canon or the cities or Deadshot so there may be a few liberties taken here, I really am not sure.

It's been two days since she last heard from either John or Oliver. She doesn't mean to worry, really. In fact, she's almost positive that everything is going perfectly as it should be, but that little part of her that's immune to her positive thinking is reminding her constantly that everything could be terribly, terribly awry.

 

And she really hates that little part of her.

 

They'd tracked down Lawton once again and Oliver decided no hesitation this time. The assassin was currently tracking down a target in Coast City so it was time for the Vigilante to take his little hunt on the road. John was going but, of course, Felicity wasn't invited. Not that she was insulted or bothered by this – she did have a real job she had been slacking at quite a bit lately to go to – but it didn't keep her from wishing she could be on their comms or tracking their location.

 

Two days was a long time to be non-stop worrying, though. And, after trying unsuccessfully to distract herself with the book she'd been reading for a little over a month due to lack of leisure time, she went looking for any news of Floyd Lawton. After hacking into the Coast City police reports and finding one containing the name and using the word “arrows”, her heart rate noticeably slowed. Felicity decided to read the rest of the report and, after noting that there was one casualty – a girl named Miranda Samuels –, shuts down her laptop to try and return to her book.

 

Until she hears the window in her bedroom open.

 

She stills for a moment, looking around her desk for something heavy or sharp. Picking up a heavy text book that was now used more for a coaster than for anything else, she stands and tries to remember everything John taught her. What was she supposed to do with her weight? How far apart should her feet be? For the love of God, why could she never remember to lock her window?!

 

The intruder rounds the corner and she's completely ready to simply throw the text book at them and dart for the front door valuables be damned, when she recognizes the green hood and groans out of frustration, her arms dropping and the text book hitting her against the front of her legs. She flinches and tosses the book onto the couch.

 

“Oliver,” she tries for reprimanding, “what the hell are you doing here? You scared me half to death.” He lifts his head and she catches sight of his green smeared eyes from underneath.

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles and she's immediately scared. _Why is he here? Why is he in full hood gear? And where is John?_ She reaches him in three steps and is staring up at him apprehensively.

 

“John?” She asks and he shakes his head vigorously and she regrets having jumped there in the first place.

 

“He went to meet Carly.” Felicity nods and tries to think of what else it could be. Lawton was dead, she knew as much from the CCPD report. She leads him towards the couch and he leans against the back of it as she pushes the hood back. Her hand falls on his upper arm and she waits to see if he'll talk. His eyes are everywhere but her face and he doesn't.

 

“So, then, what's wrong?” She pushes gently. He finally meets her eyes and takes a breath.

 

“Lawton's dead.” She nods. “But there was a girl..”

 

“Miranda Samuels,” she supplies and his eyes drift downwards again. Felicity considers that Oliver probably didn't know the girls name, that knowing makes it a little worse. Her brain tries to backtrack but before it gets to her mouth he's pushing on.

 

“She got in the way and the bullet barely got her – it was just her arm – but the poison.. I noticed her too late,” his head falls and he stares at the zipper on his jacket. “She couldn't have been older than Thea.” Felicity swallows and her hand travels down his arm, grasping his hand and twining their fingers.

 

“What you did tonight saved a lot of lives in the future,” she tries but Oliver's eyes meet hers and flash darkly.

 

“Does that make up for the life I didn't?” He snaps and she's silent for a moment.

 

“No. But it counts for something.” She tugs on his hand and pulls him toward the bathroom. “Come on.” He silently complies and follows behind her. She drops his hand to open the medicine cabinet over the sink and pulls out a makeup removing wipe. She turns him so he's leaning against the sink and begins to gently wipe the green from around his eyes.

 

It's silent for a while as she works and finds herself surprised at the amount of grease around his eyes and the effort it's taking to remove it. She scrubs a bit harder and pulls the wipe away to fold it and use a spot that isn't covered in the gunk. When she moves her hand back towards his face, she feels his close around her wrist. She meets his eyes for a second before his lips are on hers.

 

Her eyes shut as his free hand cradles her head. It's slow and gentle and over far too soon for Felicity's taste but she doesn't go back for more when he moves away. She returns her attention to removing the green from around his eyes.

 

She finishes and stands back to assess her work, tossing the wipe in the trash can next to the sink. She catches him watching her and gives him a small smile.

 

“You can stay the night,” she offers. “Deal with everything in the morning.” Oliver nods and Felicity motions for him to lose the hood as she moves into the bedroom. She doesn't know exactly why she offered for Oliver to spend the night once again other than the fact that it just felt natural. He comes into the room and she hears him set the hood on the dresser where she now realizes his bow and sheath are also resting.

 

“Felicity.” She's never heard him so timid and it makes her nervous but she turns to look at him anyway.

 

“We should.. figure out what's going on,” he motions between them, “with us.”

 

“We will,” she promises offering him a sad smile. “Just not tonight.” Turning back to the bed, she pushes back the covers and gets in. She gets comfortable before looking at him, still standing next to her dresser, and pats the other side of the bed.

 

“You coming?” Oliver nods and makes his way to the opposite side of the bed. Felicity rolls over so that her back is to him and feels the bed shift as he climbs in. She's surprised as she feels him curl up against her back, molding himself against her and wrapping his arm around her waist. He stiffens and hesitates for a moment.

 

“This okay?” He whispers and she smiles to herself, nodding. She places her hand on top of his and laces her fingers through his. She closes her eyes and is surprised by how comfortable she feels. The nerves of the past two days without her team completely gone, replaced by a warmth of knowing that both of her favorite men were safe in bed with someone who cared about them.

 

“Thanks.” She's drifting off when Oliver whispers it in her ear and she doesn't remember much after it but she remembers falling asleep smiling.

 

When she wakes up, she's cold and she can already tell she's alone. She immediately looks for the note left at her bedside.

 

_Let's have lunch today and have that talk._


	5. v.

Lunch doesn't happen. Following the death of Lawton, the Hood is under even more scrutiny than before and the criminals seem to be less fearful under the assumption he's moved his efforts to Coast City. Felicity and Oliver don't talk about much of anything that isn't mission related. It's weeks after the last time Felicity found herself sharing her bed with Oliver when Carly and John invite them out to dinner.

 

A few glasses of wine later, they come bursting unceremoniously through Felicity's apartment door. Oliver's lips are at that spot on her neck again and she's tossing her keys at the bowl by the door while he's shoving her pea coat off her shoulders and onto the floor. She mimics his motions and gets his suit jacket off of him. He wraps his arms around her waist and lifts her up, Felicity wraps her legs around his waist and feels her pencil skirt bunch up to her upper thighs. She considers, as much as she can with his tongue in her mouth, how much she loves this skirt and how glad she is that she decided such a nice skirt deserved an equally nice bra and pantie set underneath.

 

She can tell from his strides that they're mere inches away from her bedroom when one of his arms leaves her waist and his palm collides with the wall next to the door frame. He stops himself just short of the bedroom and they're so close she's technically inside. Oliver pulls his lips from her and she watches him quizzically, a little proud that he's breathing as heavily as she is.

 

“We can't,” he breathes and her head falls backwards and she lets out a frustrated groan.

 

“We really need to stop getting this close and then saying that.” He chuckles and gently sets her back on her feet. As soon as she's on the carpet, he moves back a few paces, distancing them. Felicity leans against the wall next to the door and waits.

 

“I don't want this to be nothing,” he says finally and she nods.

 

“Okay, so how do we fix that?” He stares at her for a moment and she realizes he doesn't know the answer. She sighs and crosses her arms.

 

“Tell me what you dowant, Oliver.” He's silent and she lets out another groan. “It's not that difficult of a question.”

 

“I don't want to hurt you.”

 

“That's not what I asked.” Felicity can see his eyes darken in the low light but she keeps her gaze on him. “What _do_ you want?”

 

“I don't know, Felicity!” Oliver snaps and she can see him trying to keep himself calm but she's never backed down from a fight with him before, and she's not about to start. “I want this, us, but..”

 

“But what?” She keeps her voice calm and straightens up, taking a step towards him. “What is it?” It's a moment before he responds;

 

“I wreck things,” he mumbles. “I take good things, I get scared, and I ruin them. And I have never been as scared of someone as I have of you.” She can hear what he doesn't say _off the island_. She bites her lip and moves sideways to sit on the back of the couch, pushing her skirt back down to it's original length.

 

“Why are you scared of me?”

 

“Because I didn't expect you. You came out of nowhere and you put me in place. You wedged yourself into my life when I thought I had to be alone and you are a constant surprise. A lot has happened to me over the past six years, Felicity, and of all the unexpected you are the best one.” She blinks and shakes her head, trying to take in his words.

 

“So, what are you afraid of?” She asks quietly.

 

“You've been a light in a lot of darkness. I don't want to be the thing that dulls you, I can't be that.”

 

“What makes you think you would?”

 

“I told you, I wreck things.” His eyes fall to the tan carpet and she shakes her head. It's quiet for a time before she finally finds the words to explain to him why he is _so wrong_.

 

“You're right,” she says, breaking the silence in a clear voice, and his head snaps up. “You might wreck this. You might hurt me, you might leave, you might not feel what you do for me now in the future.”

 

He stares at her and she continues.  
  


“Or I might wreck it. I could leave, or hurt you. We could both do a million different things that could ruin this. But there's also the distinct possibility, Oliver, that neither of us will ruin this. There's really only one way to know, honestly. And that's to try.” She drops back onto the floor and steps towards him again.

 

“I don't know about you, but I'd rather try and get hurt than have to wonder.” Felicity watches his face and waits for a response. He grins down at her and she finds herself responding in kind.

 

“Okay,” he shrugs, cupping her face in his hand, “let's try.” His lips fall on hers again and he laughs against her mouth as he lifts her up again.

 

Some time later, they're lying in her bed, legs and sheets tangled, and her eyes are closed but she can feel him watching her. Their hands lay between them on the pillow, fingers laced, and she can feel his fingers flexing and relaxing, weaving back and forth through hers, finger pads rubbing against the skin between her knuckles.

 

“Do you think we can do this?” He asks quietly.

 

“I think we just did,” Felicity smirks. “A few times.” He laughs and she feels the movement of him shaking his head on the pillow.

 

“I mean us,” he elaborates. She opens her eyes and gets caught in his for a moment.

 

“Yeah, I think we can.” She gives him a grin and feels satisfied when he returns it. Her eyes flutter shut again and she can feel sleep taking over her. She yawns and her mouth is moving without her brain's consent.

 

“Oliver,” she slurs.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Don't leave before I wake up.” She feels his free hand fall across her waist.

 

“I won't,” he promises. She doesn't know if he'll be there when she wakes up but she falls asleep with the promise of tomorrow in her ears and that's enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all, folks. I hope it had a fulfilling ending and I apologize for the wait. I have an idea stewing for a /possible/ sequel in my brain - once again in the format of five times - but I can't promise the idea will ever get anywhere. Thank you all for making my first foray into the literary world of both Arrow and AO3 successful and being so nice.


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